Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (14 page)

NINETEEN

By the time I got home Sid and Gus had put my mystery girl to bed in what had been the O’Conner children’s bedroom.

“We brought over some beef stew that we’d had last night,” Sid said. “She seemed to enjoy it. Tucked right in.”

“Did she seem to understand you?” I asked.

“She understood that she was being fed good food,” Gus said, “but as to whether she understood what we were saying to her, I couldn’t say. We tried hard enough. We tried every language we could think of. I even tried my Japanese phrases although one can see that she is not from the Orient. We told her our names. Sid sang to her.”

“But she didn’t say anything?”

“Not a word.”

I shook my head as I looked down at her. “I hope we can find a way to get through to her. I’ll visit Dr. Birnbaum in the morning. If anyone can break through this veil of silence, he can.”

“How do we know she is not mute, or witless?” Sid asked.

“Dr. Birnbaum says that she has the ability to speak but he believes that some great trauma has robbed her of her speech. He has seen similar cases in the hospital in Vienna where he worked with Dr. Freud.”

“Dr. Sigmund Freud?” Sid asked. “I’ve been reading about him. He is doing fascinating work on dreams and the subconscious mind. He claims we can suppress our innermost desires and fears but they are revealed in our dreams. Gus and I were going to keep dream diaries, weren’t we, dearest?”

“We were, but we never got around to it. We always have too many projects,” Gus said. “There are so many fascinating things to do in life that there simply isn’t time for all of them.”

We tiptoed downstairs again.

“I’ll look for books on the study of the mind tomorrow,” Sid said. “Maybe we can help free the poor girl from her current prison. If only we could get her to jot down her dreams.”

“And sign language. We can teach her to communicate through signs,” Gus added excitedly. “I’m sure there are books on communicating with the deaf and dumb.”

“But she hears, dearest.”

“But she doesn’t speak, does she?”

As I bade goodnight to them I couldn’t help thinking that I had never encountered such lively minds. Those males who think that we women are incapable of more than sewing and gossip should be forced to spend a day in the company of Sid and Gus.

In the middle of the night I was awoken by a horrible noise. I leaped out of bed and ran across the landing to the spare bedroom. The girl was apparently still fast asleep but was giving the most piteous moans.

I perched on the bed beside her. “What is it, my dear?” I asked gently. “Tell me what is frightening you.”

At this she began to thrash about wildly as if trying to ward off some evil. I had been raised in the Catholic church but had never given much credence to either God or the devil. I couldn’t believe that babies who died unbaptized would never go to heaven, or that people like myself, who slipped from the straight and narrow once in a while, would be condemned to hell. But as I watched her, I found myself wondering if she might, indeed, be possessed by the devil and that the person I should send for in the morning should be a priest rather than Dr. Birnbaum.

I stroked her hair and spoke soothingly to her. “It’s all right, my love. You are safe now. Nothing can harm you here. The doors are locked. I’ll protect you.”

Gradually the thrashing and moaning stopped and she drifted back into peaceful sleep. Which was more than could be said for me. I was already wound as tight as a watch spring from the jug-of-lemonade incident I had witnessed and I was just beginning to realize what a foolish, impetuous thing I had done by bringing the girl home here. If she was subject to such torments, then surely she couldn’t be left alone, and I couldn’t impose on Sid and Gus to watch her every time I had to go out.

With no chance of going to sleep, I got up and wrote a list of things I should be doing next.

1. Dr. Birnbaum. He may know a clinic that would admit her.

2. Mrs. Goodwin. She might have discovered the girl’s identity by now.

3. Daniel. He will have to bear the brunt of Miss Van Woekem’s case.

4. Mr. Roth. Try to conclude as soon as possible to give me more time for

5. The happenings at the theater.

At least I wasn’t going to be bored in the next days.

I must have drifted off to sleep in the early hours because I was woken by the sound of church bells. It took me a moment to realize that it must be Sunday. I got up and peeked into my girl’s bedroom. She was lying there looking so still and peaceful that for a moment I feared she might be dead. But then I saw her bodice rise and fall in a gentle breath. My heart went out to her. Somehow she had become trapped in a nightmare world and I had to find a way to help her escape.

I dressed, made a pot of tea, and then took her up a breakfast tray with a boiled egg and the thin strips of bread and butter we used to call soldiers when I was a child. She woke, sat up, and ate like an obedient child. I talked to her all the time she was eating. “Today Dr. Birnbaum will be coming to help you. He is a nice doctor and he will try to get to the bottom of what is distressing you.”

If she understood, she gave no indication of it but dipped the bread into the egg yolk and took the strips mechanically to her mouth. After I had my own breakfast I wrote a note to Dr. Birnbaum, explaining the circumstances, and found an urchin by the Jefferson Market building to deliver it for a nickel. Fortunately, I didn’t have long to wait for my reply. Dr. Birnbaum arrived in person, looking even more dapper than usual with a gold stick pin in his neckerchief.

“My dear Miss Murphy.” He clicked his heels and jerked a little bow. “I came immediately when I received your message. You say you have brought the girl to this very house?”

“I had to,” I said. “They were about to send her to the insane asylum on Ward’s Island and I couldn’t let that happen.”

“But this is most irregular,” he said. “This could be construed as kidnapping, you know.”

“I had no choice, Doctor. You don’t believe she is insane, do you?”

“I believe she is out of her senses at this present moment, which may be the same thing. But I strongly hope that she may have a chance of recovering those senses, given the right treatment.”

“Which she wouldn’t get at an insane asylum. They’d lock her up with mad people and she would be lost forever.”

He nodded gravely. “I fear that may be true. But what do you plan to do with her? You can’t keep her forever.”

“Did you place the advertisement in the newspapers as you said you would?”

“I did. Immediately after we parted company.”

“Then we may get a response as soon as tomorrow. Surely she has someone who is worried about her disappearance and will want her home again.”

“Let us hope so.”

“And in the meantime, I was hoping that you would be able to work with her until progress is made. You said that you are an expert in such conditions.”

“Hardly an expert. Nobody, not even Dr. Freud, counts as an expert when dealing with the complexity of the mind. We are constantly making new discoveries, each more perplexing than the one before. I may well be going against the ethics of my profession by treating this girl in a place where she has no right to be.” He paused, stroking his beard; then before I could say anything he continued, “But I must admit that our little friend challenges me. I shall write to Dr. Freud for his opinion, and until her family is located I shall do what I can.”

“Can you see her today?” I asked. “She is awake and has just had a good breakfast.”

“I was on my way to church,” he said. “But I’m sure I can find a later mass, if I put my mind to it.”

“You’re a Catholic? You go to mass?” I was amazed.

“What is so strange about that, Miss Murphy? Are you not one yourself?”

“I was raised in that religion. I no longer practice it. But I should have thought that a man of science, like yourself, would have little use for any kind of religion.”

“On the contrary. In my profession I am constantly reminded of the frailty of life and the power of prayer. And the existence of miracles.”

“So tell me, Doctor,” I said hesitantly, “is it possible that she is possessed by the devil? Last night she moaned piteously in her sleep and thrashed about as if in the clutches of something truly terrible.”

He looked at me kindly. “I should say that the likelihood is that she has been in the clutches of something truly terrible. Some kind of assault.”

“But we were told that she was not badly hurt physically and hadn’t been assaulted.”

“Let us still put the devil as a less likely cause of her condition. If she will allow me to hypnotize her, then I may be able to persuade her to reveal her secret.” He placed his cane and his hat on the chair, then removed his overcoat. “Very well, lead me to her.”

The girl reacted with fear as I ushered Dr. Birnbaum into the room.

“It’s all right, Mary,” I said. “This man is a doctor. He’s come to help you.”

“You’ve discovered her name?”

“I’m afraid not. I call her Mary because I have to call her something.”

He nodded, then pulled up a chair beside the bed. “Mary, you and I are going to have a little chat.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” I said, but the girl reached over and grabbed my hand, holding me as if she were lost in an ocean and I was her lifeline.

“All right. I’ll stay. Nothing bad is going to happen to you,” I said. I sat at the bottom of the bed where she could see me. I glanced up at the doctor. “It’s so hard when we don’t know if she can understand us.”

“Mary,” Dr. Birnbaum said quietly. “Blink your eyes if you hear me and understand me.”

The eyes sort of twitched, but you couldn’t call it a proper blink.

“I take that as a confirmation,” Dr. Birnbaum said. “But you observed that she was trying not to blink. It may be that her conscious mind is attempting to block all communication with other people. If only I can succeed in hypnotizing her, I am sure some of these layers of resistance will fall away.” He reached into his pocket and took out his watch, which he then dangled in front of Mary’s face. “It’s a pretty thing, isn’t it, my dear?” he said. “And listen. It has a charming tone to it.” He pressed a knob on the side and the watch immediately struck ten with a sweet, bell-like sound. Mary almost smiled.

“Now, young lady. I want you to keep your eyes on my pretty watch. Keep looking at it as it goes back and forth, back and forth.” He started to swing the watch gently in front of her face, all the while talking in a soft, monotonous voice. “Your eyes are getting heavy. You are falling asleep.”

I don’t know how well it was working on Mary, but I found myself drifting off. I shook myself awake with a jerk. Mary appeared to be lying there peacefully with her eyes closed.

“Can you tell us your real name?” he asked.

Silence. Her lips tried to mumble something but no sound came out.

“And where do you come from? Tell me about your home. Is your mother there? Your father?”

It seemed a spasm of pain crossed her face.

“Does she understand you, do you think?” I whispered.

Birnbaum held up a warning finger to me.

“Your parents are no longer with us, I suspect. So who looks after you now? With whom do you live? I want you to picture yourself at home, my dear. See your room. Your bed. Now the kitchen. Food on the table. Good food.” Dr. Birnbaum talked on. She lay there, not resisting but not answering, either. It was impossible to tell whether she understood him or not but definitely the tone of his voice was getting to her. “That night, my little one. Something happened to you that night. Where are you? Take yourself back. You go out in your pretty dress and shoes. Were you wearing a cape? It was cold. You are expecting a nice evening, a party, a theater—but something happens. Something goes wrong. Somebody comes.”

I saw her suddenly go rigid. Then her hands came up in front of her, jerking like puppet arms. She was fighting to push somebody or something away. Those horrible animal noises came out of her mouth.

“Who is it?” Dr. Birnbaum demanded. “Who do you see? What are they doing to you?”

Then through her torment I thought I heard a word. It was part of a tiny childish cry, a small whimpered word amid the moans, but I could have sworn she said “Annie.”

“Annie?” I asked, forgetting that it was Dr. Birnbaum who had her under his spell. “Is that your name? Annie?”

The thrashing became so intense and the moans so piteous that Dr. Birnbaum put his hand firmly on her shoulder. “When I count to three and snap my fingers you will wake up. One. Two. Three.”

He snapped his fingers. The moans stopped as if they had been switched off and she opened her eyes, looking confused.

“Annie?” Dr. Birnbaum asked gently. “Is that your name? Annie?”

But her face registered no recognition.

“That is enough for the first time, I think,” he said.

“So she understood you?”

“That I can’t tell yet,” Dr. Birnbaum said. “But the tone of my voice certainly opened her subconscious mind and unlocked the terrible event for a moment. As you saw, what happened to her is too terrible for her to confront, even in her memories. I cannot think what it could be. We must approach it cautiously or it may drive her over the edge forever.”

He took out a little notebook. “I will write a prescription for a sedative. I think sleep may just be the best medicine for her at the moment.”

I went to tuck in the sheets and blankets that she had kicked off and recoiled when I saw her feet. The nurses had obviously bandaged them, but she had partially kicked off the bandages. Her poor toes were bruised and bloody. She must have suffered frostbite, walking in those delicate shoes through the snow. I wondered how far she had walked. She had come from the north. How far north, I wondered. From the swank area near the park or beyond, in the not-so-respectable area of Harlem? It was possible that she had been brought to the park in a vehicle of some kind and then left there to die. If she had gone there on her own two feet, why? And where was she heading when she collapsed?